


Falling While Flying

by Ravenclawsome33



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Except it's turning out a little more angsty than I expected, F/F, FlightAttendant!Chloe, Fluff, Single Parent AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6490255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenclawsome33/pseuds/Ravenclawsome33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Beca finds the second best thing in her life at 39,000 feet in the air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't get this thing out of my head, so I figured I'd just get it out. This is not beta'd and not edited, so please excuse any typos or other mistakes.
> 
> This is the first of a three part story, so bear with me.

"Attention. This is the final boarding call for Flight 2106 to Atlanta. The doors will be closing in five minutes."

Despite her admittedly small frame, Beca Mitchell detests any kind of exercise. Particularly running. In high school, she'd seriously regarded anyone who'd participated in the cross-country team to be a certified lunatic. In the years since then, her convictions have only strengthened. Apparently she's one those lucky people who's been graced with an abnormally fast metabolism, and she's thankful for it.

But it is extremely important that she make this flight, so unfortunately, she'll have to break her vow never to run unless she's running for her life.

So, with her carry on bag rolling behind her, she begins bounding down the terminal, trying her best not to run into anyone. Her bag threatens to escape her grasp with every stride, and she curses the fact that her gate was at the very end of the long hall.

She arrives at Gate 19 a red-faced mess of sweat and labored breaths. Okay, so maybe she should actually start working out. This was just plain embarrassing.

She shoves her crumpled boarding pass at the flight attendant standing at the gate, who then scans it and tells her that she'd had close call. She fights back the "No shit," that threatens to spill from her lips, opting instead for a roll of her eyes.

Once she's safely checked in, she takes her time making her way down the gangway and onto the plane, trying to regain a normal breathing pattern and ease the burning in her leg muscles.

Inside the plane, she spots her row and audibly groans when she sees that her seat is in between two  _very_ heavyset men. At that moment, she seriously laments the drinks that she'd expected to get at the airport bar before she encountered a disastrously long line at security.

And  _naturally_ , when she opens the overhead bin above her row, it's completely filled. She checks the bins nearby and finds them in the same state.

Brows furrowed, she turns back to the original overhead bin and starts attempting to re-arrange the bags inside, so as to make some space for her own, before she's interrupted by a cloyingly sweet voice to her right.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I'm afraid there's no space for your bag in the overhead bins." She looks over her shoulder to see a blonde flight attendant giving her an obviously strained smile, eyeing her ear piercings with distaste.

"I can make it fit," Beca grumbles.

"Ma'am, this is a full flight, and seeing as you were the last one to board, I can assure you there is no room," the blonde insists, her voice less sickeningly sweet this time.

Beca makes one last failed attempt before another she hears another voice coming from her left.

"Everything okay, Bree?" the voice says.  Beca turns her head over her other shoulder to see a beaming redheaded flight attendant addressing the blonde. Her body decides of its own accord to drop her hands and face the redhead, whose nametag reads "Chloe."

"Yes, I was just telling this passenger there is no more space in the overhead bins for her bag," the blonde replies.

"Oh! Yes, unfortunately the bins are all full by now," Chloe says, this time speaking to Beca. "But, we can check your bag free of charge and have it waiting for you at baggage claim when we land," she finishes, once again flashing her a wide smile that causes her eyes to crinkle at the edges.

"Okay," Beca resigns, surprising herself with her willingness to acquiesce so easily.

She holds back a groan as she tries to squeeze into her seat, across the lap of the man sitting in the aisle seat who didn't even have the courtesy to get up from his seat to let her in.

/

As they begin their taxi out of the gate, Chloe the Flight Attendant stands in the aisle giving the safety demonstrations.

For the first time since she was a child, Beca finds herself paying rapt attention to the descriptions of the various safety features on board.

When the plane picks up speed and its wheels lift off the ground, Beca applauds herself for preemptively loading her iPhone with an extensive library of music.  She turns the sound pouring from her headphones up so high that it drowns out the roaring of the jet engines. Her fists furiously clench into tight balls, and her eyes screw shut.

It's almost a full minute before the airplane levels out and the turbulence of takeoff smooths.  She releases the breath she'd been holding in a whoosh of relief.

Her fists unfurl and she peeks out of one eye to see that, no, she didn't die.

/

Before long, the captain announces that they've reached cruising altitude, and that personal electronic devices can now be used.

She wishes she'd had the foresight to take her laptop out of her carry-on before that damned blonde had carted it off, but she hadn't. And so she is left with naught but her phone to keep her entertained for the four hours that it will take to reach Atlanta.

For the next half hour or so, her focus remains on the music in her ears, her head bobbing along with the beat. She searches for songs that she can combine into some new mash-ups when she once again has access to her laptop.

She's interrupted by a tap on the shoulder, and turns her head both ways with a scowl to see which of the oversized men with their overwhelming grandpa cologne wants her attention. She finds both of them out cold with their heads tilted back. When her eyes land on Chloe the Flight Attendant standing in the aisle with her hands on the beverage cart, she removes her headphones. Unfortunately, her ears are accosted with obnoxious snoring coming from both of her seatmates, causing her to scowl once again.

She hears a giggle from the aisle and she looks at the redhead, who's grinning at her unabashedly with her eyebrow quirked.

"Sorry to disrupt you, you looked like you were in the zone, there," Chloe starts, "would you like anything to drink?"

"Uh...Ginger Ale, please," she responds with a nod.

"You got it," the redhead answers. In a few moments, she hands Beca a plastic cup filled to the brim with Canada Dry, and their fingers brush during the exchange.

She feels a warmth in her hand long after Chloe has moved on to attending the passengers in the rows behind her.

/

By the time Beca realizes the captain was making his final announcements and she removes her headphones, the only sentence she catches is his generic "Thank you for flying with us; we hope to see you again" sign off.

Before she places her headphones back on her ears, Chloe is in the aisle holding a trash bag, collecting garbage. She reaches Beca, who stretches across her still-sleeping seatmate and tosses her empty cup into the bag.

"In case you missed it, you'll be baggage claim 2," Chloe chirps.

"Oh, uh, thanks," Beca replies.

Chloe doesn't respond, but only shoots her a wink.

When Chloe moves to the next row, Beca touches her cheeks and feels a noticeable warmth, and inwardly curses her genetics for allowing her skin to blush so easily.

* * *

It's about a month after her initial trip to Atlanta that Beca finds herself on a flight to Georgia once again.

She boards the plane, passing the sour faced flight attendant, Audrey, or something like that. She smirks at her, and Beca self-fives herself in her mind when she sees the blonde's nose wrinkle indignantly.

She's on the aisle this trip, thankfully. Not only that, but she'd made it in time to be able to store her carry on above her.

Unfortunately, the man next to her seems like a total slime ball, with his greasy hair slicked back and his  _two_ polos with  _both_ of their collar's popped as if he'd walked straight out of 2004.

When she takes her seat, he looks at her and gives her an up-nod and purses his lips in a manner she assumes he thinks is attractive.

She does nothing more than slip her oversized earphones over her head and ignore his existence entirely.

When the plane rolls towards the runway, it's time for the safety demonstration, and Beca is surprised to see Chloe the Flight Attendant standing in the aisle once again.

Their eyes meet and Chloe gives Beca a smile and a small wave before giving her presentation.

Chloe's acknowledgement catches her off-guard.

Really though, how many passengers does the redhead encounter on any given day, and here she is recognizing Beca.

/

Chloe reaches her row with the beverage cart, with the blonde flight attendant on the other end, attending to the opposite side of the plane.

Beca had, fortunately, made it to the airport in time to have a drink in the terminal before boarding, so she doesn't particularly want to have any more liquid, lest she have to actually use the plane's bathroom. Gross.

When Chloe looks at her to ask is she'd like anything, Beca just shakes her head politely and returns to the oasis of her headphones.

Not thirty seconds later, her zen is broken when the slime ball's voice raises to the point that it filters in through the music. She opens her eyes and sees the beverage cart still parked next to their row. Chloe is looking at him, visibly uncomfortable, but clearly trying her best to keep a professional smile on her face.

Her interest is piqued, and she removes the headphones so she can actually hear what her neighbor is saying.

"...paid good money for this ticket, and you're telling me I don't even get any damned peanuts? I know you probably got some in the back," he says abrasively.

"I'm sorry, sir. It's just company policy these days. If it were up to me, you'd still get peanuts," she answers, attempting to placate him.

He tries another route, and continues "Come on, sweet cheeks, can you just at least go check? I'll give you  _real_  nice tip," he finishes suggestively.

Okay, that's enough of that.

"If she says there are no peanuts, I'm pretty sure there are no peanuts, man. Why don't you let this woman do her job without berating her for something she has no control over. We'll land in a few hours and you can go off and find the nuts you've made very clear you don't have," Beca says in a voice that should carry enough to reach at least four rows in front and behind them.

Sure enough, that shut him up. He just scoffs and returns to his iPad. She sees Chloe holding back a snicker as she moves her cart on to the next row, and is surprised to see the blonde give her a thumbs up as she passes.

Beca feels an acute sense of satisfaction at her ability to dethrone one more of the world's fuckboys.

* * *

 In another month and a half, Beca is yet again boarding a flight to Atlanta.

This time, she thanks the travel gods when sees that, not only is her flight nearly empty, but when she makes her way to her seat in the very back row of the plane, she has the entire row to herself. She takes a mental note of the day of the week and the time (a Tuesday; 7:30 PM) for future reference.

She stows her carry-on in the overhead bin, but not before removing her laptop and placing it in one of the seatback pockets.

She spots Chloe the Flight Attendant in the back of the plane doing...flight attendant things. On this occasion, Beca can't help but notice that Chloe is one of the few people she's ever seen pull off a flight attendant uniform well. Very well, in fact. The scarf around her neck emphasizes its elegance, her blazer tapers at the waist perfectly, and the pencil skirt shows off the curves of her hips. Not to mention that the navy color only serves to complement Chloe's red curls. Overall, Beca concludes that this redhead is red hot.

_Okay, Beca. That was lame. Work on your wordplay._

Chloe must feel Beca's eyes on her because she lifts her head and sees Beca, who can feel her cheeks threatening to redden at being caught looking.

"Hey you," Chloe greets her enthusiastically. "Nice to see you again."

"You too," Beca replies lamely, giving her a singular wave of her hand before sliding all the way over to the window seat.

/

About halfway through the flight, Beca has taken a break from working on her latest track and is staring through the window into the inky blackness of the night sky.

She jumps, startled, when a tiny bottle of Jack Daniels is placed on her tray table next to her laptop, and a body plops into the aisle seat.

She turns to see none other than Chloe sitting there, a beaming smile on her face.

 _I didn't ask for any Jack Daniels_ , she thinks. "I didn't..." she starts, confused.

Chloe shakes her head, still smiling, "It's a thank you!"

"For?" Beca asks, still confused.

"For standing up for me on your last flight," Chloe says, as if it was only too obvious.

Oh, the slime ball. Right.

"Oh," she says, definitely aware of the blush rapidly forming on her face. "He was being a dick."  _ ~~You don't deserve that.~~  _"No one deserves that."

"Well, I still appreciate it. But honestly, that's nothing compared with what we have to deal with sometimes," Chloe chuckles.

Before Beca can question her, the plane hits a rough patch and shakes back and forth slightly. Her eyes slam shut of their own accord.

"Are you okay?" she hears the redhead ask, concern laced in her voice.

When Beca opens her eyes, she sees Chloe observing the white-knuckle grip that she didn't even realize she'd taken on the armrests on either side of her.

Damn those hands for betraying her so.

"Yeah. I, uh, I'm just not...a huge fan...of flying," she admits, sheepishly.

"Oh," Chloe responds, in a tone that sounds as if she was just presented with some adorable puppy, and smiling at Beca as if Beca  _herself_  was said puppy.

Beca feels her flush deepen, but this time she knows there's nothing to do about it, so she just lets it happen.

"Well, good thing I know how to take your mind off it," the redhead continues, looking downright mischievous, as she shifts into the middle seat, her shoulders touching Beca's own.

For the next 30 minutes, Chloe enthusiastically regales Beca with flight attendant horror stories, the highlights of which include the following:

1\. Numerous occasions of catching couples trying to earn their Mile High Club memberships. Obviously.

2\. The fun fact that Diet Coke is the most annoying drink to pour, as the fizz takes three times as long to settle as compared to any other soft drink.

3\. She once worked with law enforcement to apprehend a human trafficker, when she observed that he was carrying a baby with the umbilical cord still attached, and only having had a couple diapers and one bottle of formula tucked in his pant's pockets for the entire flight.

4\. People attempt to sneak dead bodies on planes more often than anyone would care to guess, because it apparently costs a hell of a lot of money to transport a corpse. (That one hadn't happened to Chloe, just someone she knew. Still disturbing.)

Beca finds herself feeling disappointed when the redhead has to get up and actually do her job, but not before asking Beca for her name.

"Beca Mitchell," Chloe says, as if testing the feel of the name in her mouth. Beca thinks she likes how it sounds when Chloe says her name.

/

When she deplanes, she decides she will be taking this particular flight on each following trip to Atlanta.

If there may be a redheaded flight attendant named Chloe on it, well, that would just be a happy accident.

* * *

 If Beca finds ever-increasing reasons to fly to Atlanta (she does), well, that too is just a coincidence.

On the flights when Beca has a row to herself, Chloe never fails to drop herself into the middle seat next to her, not even bothering to start with the aisle seat.

On those flights, Beca doesn't even bother taking her laptop out of her carry-on.

They talk about the most random things, and Chloe is enthusiastic about all of them. It amuses Beca to no end that the redhead can get excited about any arbitrary subject. It would appear that Chloe's fervor is infectious, as Beca finds herself waving her hands about and giggling when they debate whether a caterpillar knows what it's doing when it creates a cocoon. (Chloe says yes, that even a caterpillar can harbor a desire for self-improvement. Beca believes it's just a natural instinct.)

They don't quite breach any personal topics, but Beca doesn't mind. In fact, she's appreciates it more than Chloe can possibly know. She has a sneaking suspicion that Chloe is the type of person who likes to dive into friendships head on; to take a wrecking ball to the walls she can see surrounding someone. But with Beca, the redhead seems to be dismantling those walls slowly, one brick at a time, so that Beca won't be startled into calling in a figurative construction crew for quick reinforcements.

But Beca  _does_  notice it. And she surprises herself when she feels no desire to contact the construction crew.

* * *

 It's almost nine months after their initial meeting that Beca dawdles behind the rest of the passengers as they collect their belongings to deplane.

She feigns sleep until she peeks out of one eye and sees only a few other people exiting the plane. Chloe is in the aisle near the middle of the plane collecting garbage and checking for any items the passengers may have forgotten.

Beca stands and removes her carry on from overhead, and slowly makes her way towards the redhead.

"Um, hey, Chlo?" Beca says, awkwardly.

"Yeah, Becs?" Chloe answers, still doubled over in a row of seats, checking underneath them.

Beca wills herself to keep her eyes off Chloe's ass, which, thanks to her position and the snug pencil skirt, is a very tempting view.

"This was my last trip to Atlanta for, well, the foreseeable future. It's just...it's been really nice getting to know you," Beca says, cringing when her voice cracks at the end.

Chloe snaps up at those words, dismay clear on her face. "Oh. That's...thats," Chloe starts but never finishes. It seems as if it's the redhead's turn to be unable to find the right words. "Well, we should exchange phone numbers or something. It'd be a shame to lose touch," she continues, attempting to add some positivity to her tone. But Beca can see right through it.

"Yeah, yeah that's a good idea," Beca responds.

Chloe scampers to the back of the plane to grab her cell phone, and when she returns, they exchange devices and promise not to be strangers.

"Okay then, well, uh, bye, Chloe," she says, extending a hand to the redhead, but Chloe is having none of it.

She bypasses the hand completely and launches herself at Beca, her arms wrapping tightly around Beca's neck. While Beca stiffens at first, simply out of sheer surprise, she slackens in the redhead's embrace, and winds her own arms around Chloe's waist. Her head rests in the crook of the redhead's neck, and she inhales the scent of Chloe for what she hopes is not the last time.

Chloe finally releases her and takes a step back, her hands coming to rest on Beca's shoulders. "Bye, Beca," she says wistfully, removing her hands.

There's an air of finality to it all, and Beca detests it.

As she trudges down the aisle to the front of the plane, she hears Chloe shout her name from behind her.

"Yeah?" she answers, turning around to see Chloe shifting back and forth anxiously.

Chloe approaches her and appears to be deciding whether or not she wants to say what's on her mind.

"What is it, Chloe," Beca says encouragingly.

"Where do you normally stay when you come to Atlanta?" the redhead rushes out.

"In a hotel?" Beca answers confusedly, her brows furrowing as she tries to figure out where this is going.

"Well, it's just that Atlanta is my last stop, and my family has some property in Atlanta, and you're welcome to stay there. With me. To save on the cost of the hotel," Chloe proposes, biting her lip.

When Beca's eyebrows shoot into her hairline, Chloe continues.

"There's free food, and a shower with better water pressure than a hotel's," she adds, as if Beca needed anymore convincing.

Beca nods, all too fervently. "Yeah, that makes sense. I'd like that. Thanks, Chloe," she answers, neglecting to inform the redhead that her company reimburses her for hotel costs when she travels on business.

The tension in Chloe's shoulders visibly disappears and her brilliant smile is blinding Beca, as it always does. "Great!" she says, excitedly. "I just have some things to take care of, and then I'll meet you by, say, baggage claim 2? Then we can head off."

"Alright. See you in a bit!" Beca says cheerfully, leaving the plane with much more pep in her step.

/

Beca sits near the baggage claim, fiddling with her phone while she waits for Chloe to find her.

She tries to distract herself from the nerves she feels about her impending sleepover at Chloe's place. Not that she expects anything crazy to happen. At the same time, she wouldn't be particularly  _opposed_  to anything crazy happening. But she doesn't want to give Chloe the impression that she's that kind of girl; the kind that puts out on the first date. Is this a date? It sounds a bit date-like, particularly with the way that Chloe had looked nervous as well when she posed the idea to Beca. But then again, those nerves could just have been from asking a person she's never seen outside of an airplane to spend the night in her own home.

And on top of all that, they'd never broached the topic of their sexualities. Beca's pretty certain she gives off a fairly strong vibe that she's a lady who loves other ladies, but Chloe is a wild card. Sure, she's affectionate and she looks at Beca with those crazy-blue eyes like she's the only person in the world. But that could just be Chloe.

_Lock it up, Mitchell. You're getting ahead of yourself. She's just a friend who offered you a place to stay for the night. Until you get any signals that suggest otherwise, that's all it is._

She takes in a deep breath; in for 4, holds it for 4, and exhales for 6. Feeling significantly more calm, she returns to her phone.

Before long, Chloe approaches her with her own carry-on rolling along behind her.

"Hey you," she chirps.

Beca stands with a grin of her own, "Hey there. Lead the way, madam!"

"Onwards!" Chloe giggles, extending her arm for Beca to take. Beca links her arm with Chloe's, and they make their way towards the employee parking lot.

/

In a little over a half an hour, they pull into a long drive way leading to a house that resembles those Beca's seen driving through the Hollywood Hills.

"Oh, damn. When you said you had property, you meant  _property_..." Beca says, letting out a long, low whistle.

"Yeah, this house has been in the Beale family for generations. These days, it's used as a summer home, mostly. But we keep it stocked for when I have to spend the night in Atlanta. It's nice to sleep somewhere familiar, instead of another hotel room, ya know?" Chloe explains.

Considering Chloe's occupation as a flight attendant, Beca wouldn't have guessed that Chloe came from money.  But maybe she should have, considering the brand new Audi they are currently sitting it. Really, she's thinking that this is a prime learning example of the fact that she shouldn't assume things about a person without knowing their whole story.

And now she's very curious to learn Chloe's story, not to say that she wasn't before.

Chloe parks in front of the sizable home, and pops the trunk. They remove their carry-ons and the redhead leads them to the front door. Beca can't help but chuckle at the "Georgia-ness" of it all. There's a wrap-around porch, complete with a porch swing and rocking chair, and vast windows with plantation-style shutters.

Beca thinks that the southern belle aesthetic would suit Chloe quite nicely.

When they reach the inside, Beca feels as if she's stepped right into the late 19th century, though she can see a smattering of luxurious modern accouterments.

"Nice place," Beca says, releasing another low whistle while Chloe presses some buttons on the alarm system just inside the front door.

Chloe just chuckles and grabs Beca's hand, "Come on, I'll give you a tour."

They leave the parlor to see the living room, a sitting room, the formal dining room, and the kitchen.  Beca holds in her envy when she sees that a second set of stairs lead from the kitchen to the upper floor of the home. She's always wanted a house with two staircases. Upstairs, Chloe leads them down a hall featuring a number of bedrooms and a guest bathroom.

Since a long day of travelling can make a person feel pretty gross, they both decide to take a shower to rid themselves of that stale airplane smell. Chloe takes hers in the bathroom attached to her bedroom, while Beca showers in the guest bathroom. Beca tries and fails to avoid thinking about the fact that Chloe is naked, in the shower, just feet down the hall. The mental images are enough to make her adjust the steaming water to downright frigid.

Beca changes into the t shirt and gym shorts she'd grabbed from her bag, and ambles down the main staircase to the living room to wait for Chloe. Though would appear that Chloe, clad in a full on blue and white striped pajama set, has beat her there. Beca stops on the landing, just content to watch Chloe for a few seconds. She's already set a bottle of wine and a couple glasses, along with some snacks, on the coffee table in front of the couch, and is kneeling in front of the mantel, lighting a fire in the fireplace.

It's not that cold, and Beca isn't sure the fire is particularly necessary, but she appreciates the ambiance.

Before Chloe catches her looking at her like a creep, Beca descends the rest of the stairs.

"Quite the hostess," Beca remarks as she plops herself on the couch.

Chloe jumps a little, but turns to Beca, smiling that smile that makes her insides go all gooey.

"I aim to please," she says. With the flames growing into an outright roar, Chloe stands and joins Beca on the couch, sitting cross-legged and facing Beca. "I know it's kind of late," she says, gesturing at the grandfather clock across the room which reads 11:15 PM, "but I figure we should make this a proper sleepover."

"Sounds good to me," Beca replies. And it really does sound good. She knows Chloe is just doing her a favor this evening by letting her stay here, but she doesn't want to let a single second of it go to waste.

"I already know you don't like movies, so would you wanna watch some TV?" Chloe questions, grabbing the remote and turning on the large flat screen mounted above the fireplace. Beca nods, and Chloe continues, "Cool. I'll find something while you open the wine."

"Yes ma'am," she says, mock saluting the redhead, who giggles and melts Beca's insides even further.

Beca pours them each an ample amount of wine, and settles back into her side of the couch, her weight leaning on the armrest, letting her feet rest near the middle.

Chloe mirrors her position on the opposite end, and reaches for the large afghan that drapes over the back of the couch, unfolding it, and tossing one side over for Beca to catch.

Both feeling sufficiently comfy, they settle in to watch the episode of Dexter that Chloe had chosen. They'd discussed their favorite and least favorite shows on a number of different flights, and found that they shared an interest in quite a few of them.

They sit in comfortable silence for the first half of the episode or so, only moving when they need to refill their glass or take advantage of the chips and dip that Chloe had produced.

When Beca feels Chloe's foot accidentally touch hers, both of them jump and retract their feet as if they'd been burned by the contact. Beca's brain tells her not to acknowledge it and just keep her focus on the show, but since when does her brain work around Chloe Beale?

She hazards a glance at the redhead and finds Chloe looking back at her, dare she say, shyly?

Chloe holds her gaze and Beca feels something in the air shift, a tension that, while it might have been hanging around in the background since their first meeting, thickens and now stands front and center. She knows Chloe feels it too, as she sees the redhead's freckled cheeks tinge with pink. Beca hopes that Chloe will attribute the redness in her own to the wine, but she knows that Chloe knows better.

And she's alright with it.

Over the remainder of the episode, it would seem that both of them unconsciously (or consciously, who can say?) let their feet drift until they rest against each other. When neither moves when they make contact, Beca knows it's at least semi-conscious.

They're on their second episode of Dexter and their second bottle of wine when Chloe breaks the silence.

"You know, you fly an awful lot for someone who's scared of it," she remarks nonchalantly.

Beca turns to the redhead and sees that her focus is still on the television in front of them.

"Yeah, not exactly by choice though. I had to travel for business," she replies, and Chloe just nods.

"I work for a record label in Los Angeles, and I was in charge of overseeing the opening of their new branch in Atlanta," she expands, using this as an opportunity to start sharing more personal things about herself with Chloe.

At that, Chloe faces Beca with a wide smile on her face. "No way!" she squeals. "That's so awesome!"

Beca blushes and goes on to explain to Chloe how she got the job there as a coffee bitch the year she graduated college, and the years that she's spent ascending the ranks to become a more valued, senior employee. Chloe, for her part, listens with rapt attention and by the end of the second episode, they're facing each other on the couch with their knees touching, sipping on their wine, and talking music. The conversation turns to Chloe, and Beca learns that the redhead earned her teaching credentials in college, and that she became a flight attendant because she wanted to travel the world and have adventures while she was still young.

"But, my dream has always been to be a teacher. I figured that once I have a wife and a family, I won't want to spend half of my time away from home, so I'll settle down and pursue the teaching thing then," Chloe finishes.

Beca nearly chokes on her wine when Chloe says "wife," and her heart skips a beat before resuming at a rapid pace. She pictures Chloe as a mother, as a part of a family. As a part of  _her_  family. And ease with which she pictures Chloe as a part of her life, a co-parent and a spouse, scares Beca just a little bit. What scares her more, though it excites her just as much, is the fact that she can feel the way her heart belongs to the redhead just a little bit more with each minute that passes.

There's something that she needs to share with Chloe; something very important, and this seems like the perfect segue into that conversation. But before she can gather the courage that she's been trying to build since the redhead first sat next to her on that plane, the moment has passed, and Chloe is jumping from the couch.

"I have a great idea!" she exclaims, looking down at Beca, and thankfully ignorant to the unrest roiling in her stomach.

She bounds off to the kitchen and returns a few minutes later with a couple bowls filled with marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers, and two metal skewers.

"I like where your head's at, Beale," Beca says, grinning when she realizes what Chloe has in mind.

Chloe sets the bowls on the coffee table and urges Beca off the couch.

"Grab those throw pillows," Chloe directs, as she gathers the afghan off the couch and another one that is draped on the armchair to her left.

After the redhead spreads the blankets in front of the fireplace, Beca places the pillows down and retrieves the bowls from the coffee table.

As they roast their marshmallows over the fire, Chloe tells Beca about all the places she's seen and the people she's met on her travels around the world. She honestly can't believe this is how her night ended up going. She's expected to spend the night alone in that starkly impersonal hotel room, but here she is, with her second favorite person in the world. She only wishes that the first could be there with them.

But then, Chloe demonstrates the "best" method of roasting a marshmallow, and Beca is horrified when Chloe just allows the whole thing to engulf in flames until it's a bubbling, charred thing. Her jaw drops when the redhead withdraws the skewer and peels off the burnt layer, and pops it in her mouth, leaving a blob of gooey marshmallow still hanging at the end of the skewer.

"What the fuck was that?!" Beca squawks, her eyebrows surely higher than they've ever been.

Chloe laughs, "This way you get to eat the same marshmallow twice!"

Beca shakes her head in disbelief. "That's just heresy. And that can't possibly be good for you! Carcinogens, and all that."

Chloe removes the second part of the marshmallow from where she'd been holding it above the flames, and eats it.

"Life is short; I'll eat 'em how I want to eat 'em," she says, her words muffled through a mouth full of gooey sugar.

Beca notices a rogue streak of marshmallow hanging from the corner of Chloe's mouth and her hand reaches to remove it without any agreement from her brain.  Chloe's chewing slows to a stop, and her eyes widen.

"You've got something...just there," Beca whispers. Her hand cups Chloe's jaw while her thumb stretches to wipe away the offending marshmallow. Her thumb doesn't stop tracing her lip even after she's wiped away the mess.

She hears Chloe swallow audibly, and the sound triggers a throbbing in between her legs.

Her eyes meet Chloe's, and she sees that the dazzling blue has reduced to a thin ring around dilated pupils.

"Did you get it," Chloe asks, her voice husky.

"I think I'd better double check," she responds, her voice equally as gravelly. Beca brings her other hand up so that they rest on each side of Chloe's face.

She leans in slowly, eyes searching the redhead's for any sign of hesitation, and when she finds none, she places a soft, chaste kiss on Chloe's lips. They stay there for a moment, Chloe releasing a loud exhale through her nose, before she moves her lips over Beca's own.

It's slow; a leisurely dance they both appear to already know the steps to. Neither feels the need to rush, simply content to get to know the feeling of the other's lips on theirs. The kisses are chaste, but the innocence of it all somehow makes the intimacy skyrocket.

The throbbing in her center has intensified tenfold, and when she  _finally_ feels Chloe's tongue brush her bottom lip, she can't hold in her small moan. She's sure her underwear are nearly ruined.

Her noises must have done something to the redhead, because her tongue enters Beca's mouth with renewed urgency. Their tongues brush languidly, over and over, until Beca cannot sit straight anymore. She winds an arm around Chloe's back, the other tangling in red hair. With their mouths still connected, Beca gently lowers Chloe backwards, until that red hair is splayed across the pillows and Beca hovers over her.

Her heart skips a beat when Chloe smiles at her from beneath her. She returns the smile gladly, lowering herself until she's resting on her forearms, and presses another lingering kiss to Chloe's lips. She continues as slowly as she began, trailing her lips reverently over Chloe's cheeks, her forehead, and her nose before making a painstakingly slow journey to her neck and ears. Despite the increasing heaviness of Chloe's breathing, she takes her time, so as to give every part of this magnificent redhead the attention it deserves.

/

The sun starts to peak through the window and the fire has burned to embers by the time they both fall asleep, bare, with their limbs entwined, having left no inch of the other unexplored.

/

It's 10:00 in the morning when one of Chloe's red curls tickles her nose that Beca awakens. She feels Chloe draped over her side, one of her legs between Beca's, and an arm laying across her waist. When she takes in the redhead's nude form, she can't help but want to pinch herself and make sure she's not in some wonderful dream.

It's 7:00 AM in Los Angeles, and there's a phone call she needs to make, so she slips as slowly and carefully as she can from beneath Chloe, and quickly dresses herself in her clothes that lay nearby.

Grabbing her cell phone from the coffee table, she pads silently to the kitchen and dials the appropriate number.

"Hey, Becs!" her father greets her when he picks up.

"Hi, dad," she says, "I made it to Atlanta in one piece. We have the party for the grand opening tonight, and then I'll be back tomorrow. How's my little man?"

"Perfect, as always," Ethan replies. "I just woke him up and he's here eating breakfast do you want to talk to him?"

"Of course, put him on," she replies.

She hears the scraping of chair until there's a heavy breathing on the other end of the line.

"Mommy! Hi, Mommy!" his little voice squeaks through the phone.

She chuckles, picturing his hair, tousled from sleep, and his favorite pair of Batman pajamas.

"Hi, Olly. I miss you, squirt! Are you being good for Pappy Mitchell?" she asks, though she knows he is. She wonders how she was blessed with such a well-mannered kid. Lord knows she wasn't when she was his age.

"Yep. We goed to the baseball game last night, and, and cuz I was extra good, Pappy got me ice cream in a Dodger's hat! It had sprinkles, even" he says excitedly.

"You 'went' to the baseball game, buddy," she corrects. "That sounds really cool! Pappy's pretty fun, huh?"

"Yeah, he's the best Pappy," he answers, and she can hear his little feet pattering around her dad's kitchen.

"Don't forget about your old mom, now, though," she jokes, and he just laughs.

"I won't forget you mommy, you're my favorite," he responds.

"That's what I like to hear," she says, not even bothering to contain the wide smile on her face. They talk for another minute or two before she says goodbye.

"Okay, I have to go get ready for work, love," Beca tells him. "I'll be back home by tomorrow night, and have you in my arms before you go to sleep."

"Okey doke. Love you, mama," he says.

"I love you, too, Oliver. Bye," she says, blowing a kiss through the phone before she hangs up.

/

She makes her way back to the living room to find it empty. "Chloe," she calls out, figuring Chloe might have gone to use the restroom.

No answer comes, so she moves into the parlor, only to find Chloe standing there fully dressed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, with tears welling in her eyes. She spots her bag sitting there by the door, fully zipped, looking travel-ready.

Her heart drops into her stomach when she takes in the scene before her.

"Chloe.."

She knows. Chloe heard her talking to her son in the kitchen and now she hates her. She was too cowardly to tell Chloe about the most important person in her life, and now she's paying for it.

"How could you, Beca?" she asks, the tears in her eyes finally spilling down her cheeks.

"Chloe, I..I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you about him," Beca pleads.

"You lied to me!" Chloe shouts, cutting her off. "I don't understand...last night..I thought, I thought that I meant something to you."

Beca's confused now. Of course she means something to her. Having a son doesn't really change that.

"Last night was perfect, Chloe. I just, I was scared to tell you. You mean so much to me, and I was scared that telling you would ruin what we have. I'm so sorry, but Chloe, I lo-"

"Don't. You. Dare," Chloe snarls, stepping towards Beca with each menacing word, her index finger extended in front of her. "Of course it ruins what we have. I can't  _believe_ you. I thought you were different," she growls, a fire in her eyes so different than the one Beca witnessed last night, "but no, you're just another asshole who wants to fuck the flight attendant when they have someone waiting for them at home," she finishes, poking Beca's sternum harshly.

Beca is pretty sure that Chloe's got it all wrong, and she needs to fix this. "Chloe, you don't understand...he's my-" she pleads, tears now falling down her own face.

"NO!" Chloe shouts, and Beca stumbles backwards from the ferocity of it. "I don't care who he is to you, or who you say I am to you. I don't want to hear it. God, I can't even look at you right now," she says, turning to face the door.

"I've called you a cab, and it will be here in a few minutes. I'd like for you to leave," she says, opening the front door, her eyes fixed on the floor.

"Please, Chloe, let me explain..." Beca pleads, one last time.

"Get. Out," Chloe says in a tone that makes it clear that there will not be any more discussion.

"If that's what you really want," Beca says, grudgingly grabbing her bag and moving towards the open door.

When she steps onto the porch, she looks at Chloe and sees the redhead's gaze still fixed on the floor.

"If you would just listen to me," Beca says, trying one last time to get Chloe to listen to reason.

But before she can say any more, Chloe cuts her off with a terse "Goodbye, Beca," and slams the door shut.

Beca is left standing on the porch of the Beale family summer home in her t-shirt and gym shorts, waiting on a cab to take her away from the best thing that's happened to her since her son, Oliver, entered the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me for the ending. This is only the first part, so there's a lot more to go in this story.
> 
> Please let me know what you think!!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello again! Here we are for Part Two. Thank you, to everyone who has read and/or commented. The response to this story has been overwhelming. Thanks for the support!! So without further ado...**

* * *

Beca sees the yellow cab turn off the lane onto the long driveway leading to the Beale's house, and stands, wiping off the stray tears still slipping from her eyes. Before the cab pulls up, she approaches the front door, not wanting to leave without giving it one last shot to explain the situation to Chloe properly.

She knocks on the door a few times, and when Chloe doesn't answer, she rings the doorbell.

"Chloe, come on, please open up," she shouts, praying the redhead will come to the door.

The driver parks his cab in front of the house, and greets Beca with a nod of his head. She gives him her best impression of a smile, though she can feel that it translates to something much closer to a grimace.

He takes it upon himself to put her carry-on in the trunk, while she's still rooted to her spot in front of the door, knocking once more for good measure.

A few minutes later, the driver rolls down the passenger window and calls out to her. "Miss, I just wanted to let you know the fare started accruing when I parked the car."

"Oh, right," she mumbles.

Grudgingly, she gets into the cab, and when they begin to pull away, she chances a glance back at the house, just in case Chloe had come to the door after all.

She's not sure if she imagined it, but she's pretty certain she saw Chloe standing, arms crossed, at one of the upstairs windows.

The driver tries to make light small talk, and Beca hopes that the redness still staining her eyes and her short, one-word answers will tip him off that she's not at all interested in conversing with him.

Eventually, he gets the hint, and they spend the rest of the drive to Downtown Atlanta in silence.

/

That night, Beca forces herself to shrug on her dress and strap on her heels, even though attending this party for her label's opening is the last thing she wants to do.

But she loves her job and she wants to keep it, so despite the turmoil she's feeling, she needs to go.

At the party, she plasters on the best fake smile she can muster, and schmoozes with label executives and the other people she's been working with for the last year or so. If they can tell that her enthusiasm isn't genuine, they don't say anything about it.

She thinks that, even if they do notice, they wouldn't care enough to ask. But she's almost glad they don't. She couldn't imagine opening up about her problems like that with any of these people.

It's ironic that the  _one_  person that she could even fathom sharing herself with like that, aside from her father, is the same one that is making her feel this way in the first place.

But she's Beca effin' Mitchell, damn it. She's struggled through her issues alone before, and she'll do it again.

/

After she's given the little speech she'd been required to give as the lead executive on this project, she heads straight to the open bar.

She consumes far too many drinks, and when she orders a Jack and Coke to finish off the night, she can feel her eyes begin to well with tears when she remembers that Chloe had given her a tiny bottle of Jack Daniels on the flight where they'd had their first real conversation.

She doesn't want her colleagues to see her in this state, and since she's already said her piece and made nice with the right people, she thinks it'd be alright if she takes off.

She leaves the Jack and Coke on the bar top, completely untouched, and slips discreetly from the premises.

/

Through the hazy fog of the alcohol in her system, her mind takes it upon itself to lead her to the place she wants to be most right now, and that's how she finds herself once again on Chloe's wrap-around porch, pounding on the door.

The lights are all off, and she can see a dim red light flashing from the alarm system inside the front door telling her the house has been secured.

She figures Chloe is long gone, probably on another flight somewhere. This was only supposed to be an overnight stay for the redhead as well.

She returns to the cab empty handed and with an emptiness in her heart, and instructs the driver her to take her back to downtown.

/

When she arrives back in her hotel room, she falls on top of the bed, still in her party clothes, and calls the redhead.

The call goes straight to voicemail, so the best she can do is leave her a message. It's not the way she wanted to let Chloe know about her son, nor is it as eloquent as she would have liked, but she manages to get through a thorough, albeit teary, explanation of the situation.

She asks Chloe to call her back when she gets the message, but there's a sinking feeling in her gut that she's not going to get a response at all.

The next day, Beca wakes up exhausted. Her head is pounding from her hangover, and with each pulse of her temples, she hears Chloe's voice. It's not the bubbly, melodic tone Beca had become so fond of. It's the venomous timbre she used when she kicked Beca out her front door and out of her life.

_Get. Out. Get. Out._

This may well be the worst hangover Beca has experienced. And thinking back on her days in college, that's saying something.

* * *

Thanks to the difference in time zones, Beca estimates she can make it all the way back to Los Angeles and to her father's home just in time to tuck Olly into bed.

Neither Beca nor Oliver was used to her being away from home so often, so when she's had to travel to Atlanta these past months, she and her father had done everything they could to keep his life as normal as possible, including his sleep schedule. So while she  _could_ take him back to their own house, she figures she'll just sleep there tonight as well.

When she lands at LAX, Beca finds her way to the short term parking garage to find her car. Sitting in the driver's seat, she checks her phone for any missed calls, texts, or voicemails from Chloe, and finds none. With a pained sigh, she sends the redhead a text message, once again thoroughly explaining the situation. Through text, Beca is able to come up with a more comprehensive, and significantly less tearful description of her motives in keeping Oliver a secret than she did in her drunken voicemail last night.

/

Around 8:00 PM, Beca pulls into the driveway of her father's ranch-style home in Sherman Oaks and doesn't even bother to remove her bag from her car. She's already got a drawer full of clothes in the room her father had prepared for Oliver when he was born, and a toothbrush in the guest bathroom. It's a little past Olly's bedtime, so she's resigned herself to just being there to wake him in the morning.

"Oof!"

She hasn't even taken two steps into the house before there's a tiny body wrapped securely around her legs. When she registers what's happening, she ruffles his shaggy brown hair. He detaches his grip from her body, and looks up her through the lenses of his glasses.

She knows she will rue the day he starts wearing contacts, because the way the thickness of the lenses magnify his light blue eyes is downright adorable.

She bends down to his eye level and wraps him in a bear hug, squeezing him as she says, "Hi, Olly. I missed you, buddy!"

She wonders how it's possible that one hug from her son can dull the anguish that she's felt since the morning prior. She holds onto him for a moment longer, then lets go so she can hold him at arm's length and look at him properly.

"I missed you too, mommy. Do you have to go away again soon?" he asks, finishing his question with a yawn.

"Nope," Beca answers, popping the 'p', "I'm not going anywhere. But I  _am_  wondering what you're doing up past your bedtime," she finishes, shooting a pointed look at her father, who'd gotten up from his seat on the couch to give Beca a welcome back hug of his own.

He only shrugs, muttering, "You know I have a hard time saying no to him, Becs. Have you seen his face?"

She laughs, still hugging him when she responds, "Once or twice."

When she releases her dad, Oliver tugs at the hem of her shirt and raises his arms up, flexing his tiny hands. She obliges, picking him up and settling him on her hip.

"I asked-ed Pappy if I could stay up till you got home, and he said I could," he says proudly.

She's been working on getting him to use proper grammar, but she's too damn happy to see him right now, so she lets it slide.

"I'm glad he did! Now I get to tuck you in myself," she tells him.

"He's all ready for bed, Becs. Olly even brushed his teeth without me having to tell him," Ethan says, and Oliver nods enthusiastically.

"Good job, Olly!" she exclaims, lightly bouncing him on her hip. He grins widely, before yawning a second time. "Okay, let's get you off to sleep, little man."

Beca carries him across the living room and down the hall to his bedroom, Oliver babbling on about all the things he and her father did together all the while.

She reaches his room, and lays him gently in his fleece racecar sheets. She pulls the comforter up to his shoulders, and he giggles when she tucks in the edges of it tightly underneath him like she does every night, effectively cocooning him in his bed.

Some of her own earliest memories were of her parents doing the same thing with her when she was around Oliver's age.

"Good night buddy," she whispers. She leans down to brush his hair back and place a light kiss on his forehead, and gently removes the glasses from his face.

"Night, mommy," he answers with a sleepy smile.

After grabbing some basketball shorts and a loose t shirt from her designated dresser drawer, she switches on his night-light, which casts dim images of stars and planets across his ceiling.

When she reaches the door, she turns to face him, and flicks off the overhead light, which causes the night-light to burn a little brighter.

"Sleep tight," she says with a grin.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite," he responds, finishing off their nightly ritual.

She closes the door, changes her clothes in the guest bathroom, and makes her way back to the living room to join her father on the couch, pleased to see that he has prepared them both a hot cup of tea.

/

An hour later, Beca is trying her best to keep up appearances and make small talk with her dad, but her words come out muted and fragmentary. Her lackluster conversation, and the way Beca's eyes are glued to her phone must betray her, because her father breaks yet another awkward silence and turns fully to her, asking, "Beca, what's going on?"

"Nothing," she replies, her eyes refusing to meet his. He doesn't ask anything further, a move very uncharacteristic of Ethan Mitchell, so she chances a glance his way and finds him still staring at her as if trying to read her, and clearly, thoroughly unconvinced. "You've been staring at that phone for the last hour like it's about to telling you the winning lottery numbers. I can see it's not 'nothing', Becs."

A heavy sigh escapes her, and she knows there's no getting out of this conversation. Though, part of her is glad that he's here and that he's pushing her, because, apart from the short time that she spent with Oliver tonight, she hasn't ever felt more alone than she has since Chloe ousted her. Not even after a blind hookup on her 21st birthday resulted in an accidental pregnancy, and she was thrust into adulthood and motherhood, while the father told her he couldn't have a kid jeopardizing his plans for his future.

She didn't care about him. Hell, she was shaky on his last name. But Chloe...well, she was Chloe Beale. And to Beca, that was everything.

"It's not nothing," she confirms weakly, her fingers fiddling with the handle of the mug of tea, which has long since cooled. "I met someone," she continues, glancing once again at her father. He doesn't have any visible reaction, instead only raising his eyebrows, encouraging her to continue.

She clears her throat and tries to figure out how best to explain her connection with the redhead. She takes a lesson from her favorite actress, and starts at the very beginning. "She's a flight attendant...and we got to know each other on my flights to Atlanta."

For the next hour, Beca tells her father all about Chloe. When she describes the way Chloe would distract her from turbulence with funny faces and silly accents, or how she would sometimes sneak Beca snacks from the first class flight attendants' station, she laughs. When she tells him about the night that they shared together (sans any of the details, of course), she blushes. And when she explains the mountainous misunderstanding they'd had, the fight that followed, and all the ways that she's already tried to make it right, she cries.

When the thin streams of tears turn into heavy sobs that wrack her body, and her breathing becomes labored, her dad wraps her tightly in his arms. He rubs soothing circles on her back with one hand, and runs the other down the length of her hair. Beca doesn't try to hold back the tears. She's gone this far already, and she figures that letting them fall is the best thing to do. So she lets them fall until there are no more tears to be spilt, and her breathing grows steady.

The experience turns out to be pretty cathartic; she feels a little less like her head might explode. It had felt good to unload her emotions and tell her story out loud.

Ethan loosens his grip on her, and Beca leans back and moves back to her spot at the end of the couch, only slightly embarrassed by the tear stains she left on her father's shirt. He's looking at her with a sympathetic expression and she can she the glint of a few unshed tears in his own eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Becs. She sounds like a wonderful person, but I hope that she gets her head out of her ass and realizes what a catch you are," he says, waving off Beca's look of shock at his profanity.

"Seriously though, I mean it. If she can't recognize what she's missing out on, it's her loss. You are a wonderful young woman. You're driven, you're kind, you've managed to work your way to the top of a vicious industry and still keep your humility and your humanity. And you're a hell of a good mother to that kid in there. And...and your mother would say the same thing if she were here," he finishes, glancing at the family photo that hangs on the opposite wall, a few tears finally falling down his cheeks.

Beca manages the smallest of semblance of a smile, and responds with a shaky, "Thanks, Dad." She's so thankful to have him in her life. Their relationship was strained, to say the least, after her mother died the year she turned eighteen. They didn't speak much during the first three years of college, Beca having withdrawn into herself, and Ethan having found it hard to comfort her when he was so devastated by his wife's death himself. But her senior year, Beca learned that she was going to be a single mother, and any disconnect between father and daughter gave way to an unspoken agreement to get over their issues and make sure that her child would grow up loved, as part of a stable family.

He gets up from his place on the couch and grabs a blanket and a fresh pillow from the linen closet, bringing them back to Beca. She gladly accepts them, and smiles when he bends over to kiss her forehead.

"Love you, Becs. Don't be too hard on yourself tonight, you've done nothing wrong here. Tomorrow is a new day," he tells her.

"Night, dad," she replies, and he makes his way down the hall to his bedroom.

Beca can't seem to stop herself from checking her phone one more time before she lays down to let sleep take her, and once again, she's disappointed. She isn't sure whether read receipts are a blessing or a curse at this point. Looking through the small thread of text messages, she can see that the messages she sent after leaving Chloe's house have been delivered, but not opened. She assumes that if her texts went unread, there's a pretty solid chance that Chloe hasn't listened to her voicemail either.

/

Sleep does not come easily for Beca that night. Despite the pep talk from her dad, Beca's mind wars with itself until the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, the fatigue of a day spent travelling catches up with her, and she succumbs to exhaustion.

/

She wakes to the swishing sound of paper, and small clammy hands patting her skin. Confused, she opens one eye and sees Olly standing in front of the couch, still in his pajamas.

"What..Olly?" she asks, her voice still scratchy and riddled with sleep.

"Morning, mommy. Are you okay?" he answers, his face scrunched up in concern, eyes flitting across her body.

"Yeah, wh-..." She doesn't finish her sentence, because when she follows his gaze, she discovers no less than two dozen Band-Aids riddled across her skin, featuring a variety of animated characters.

"What's with the Band Aids, kid?" she questions, half amused, and the rest of her still confused.

When she looks at him, he's pulling at the hem of his shirt and shifting side to side on his tiny, socked feet.

"Well...well, Pappy said that I shouldn't dis..disturb you because you are hurting. I wanted to help, but I couldn't find any boo-boos" he explains, his magnified eyes wide with compassion.

While she is awed by Oliver's display of selfless empathy, her heart breaks a little, in that moment; the innocence of a child is both precious and painful. She already laments the day her son will learn that not all pain can be healed by physical treatment. That nothing but time can begin to mend the pain of heartbreak.

But for now, she gives him a wide smile and thanks him, pulling him onto the couch so that his back is nestled against her front. When she reaches over him and squishes him slightly into the cushions to grab the remote from the coffee table, he giggles his tiny infectious laugh, and she tickles his side before turning on the TV. and choosing an episode of some 90's Nicktoons she's saved on her dad's DVR. Beca has always believed that she grew up in the golden age of animation, and thinks it's her duty to expose Oliver to the same brilliance. If she happens to think that the cartoons these days are lame, and gets a throwback to her own childhood at the same time...well, Oliver doesn't have to know that just yet.

/

When they laugh together over an episode of Angry Beavers, she thinks that she has the only Band Aid she needs, right here in her arms.

* * *

**I said in the first part that this was going to be a 3 part story, in total. That may no longer be the case. But rest assured, this is not the end. Basically, what I'm saying is that it's probably going to end up between 3 and 5 chapters.**

**I apologize for the lack of Chloe in the chapter. I promise she will be back next time.**

**ALSO! I finally made a Tumblr for my Bechloe obsession. So please come follow me at commanderbeclexa on Tumblr. We can talk Bechloe all day long. (And Clexa, if you're into that. Because I am, no matter what ass hat showrunners do. Still so salty.)**


	3. Part Three

**A/N: Hey, folks. I apologize for the wait, but I had finals and graduated law school, and now I'm neck-deep in bar prep. So life has been a bit hectic as of late. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Beca's grateful that she had the foresight to take the next week off from work at the label. At the time, she'd anticipated that she would need a break after the hectic opening of the Atlanta branch. Now, she figures it's just as well.

She knows she'd only be halfway invested in the work she'd be doing anyway, and that's  _not_  how Beca Mitchell makes good music. She prides herself on the way she can usually tune out the rest of the world when she sits in front of the booth, mastering the knobs and dials on the board until the track she's working on becomes a seamless composition of notes and beats.

But that damn flight attendant has her mind scattered in a million places.

She only feels like herself when she spends time with the little whirlwind that is Oliver Mitchell.

She almost feels a little guilty. That she's in some indirect way  _using_  her son as a distraction. But at the same time, she knows it's not in some weird, unhealthy way. She doesn't  _depend_ on him for her happiness. She's witnessed those kinds of parents, the ones who choose to have a kid for the explicit purpose of having someone to "love them unconditionally." She's seen the way that can really fuck up both parent and child later in life.

It's just that being with him makes her feel the way sitting in a studio makes her feel. It's where she belongs, where's she feels at home. And Oliver seems to have as much fun being with her as she does with him, so like a typical mushy, sappy mom, she appreciates the time she has with him until he eventually grows up and makes friends, and becomes a  _teenager_  who obsesses over girls. Or guys. Or both, or neither. It doesn't matter to her.

So she takes full advantage of the her time off with her son, coloring with him, giving him "horsey rides" around their living room, and watching his favorite Disney movies on repeat until he's reciting lines along with the film at about 30% accuracy.

This week his favorite is Hercules, and he's taken it upon himself to only respond to "Hunk-ules." She'd laughed about it with her dad until she and Olly had to go grocery shopping and he'd enthusiastically introduced himself to the cashier. As she swiped her credit card through the machine and shoved the bags haphazardly into her cart, she contemplated switching grocery stores entirely.

She thinks that's a bit of an overreaction, though. Oliver's in a bit of a "phase" phase, so she just banks on the fact that he'll move on from this one as quickly as he does the others.

He does. By the next week, his new favorite is 101 Dalmations, and everywhere he goes, he clutches the stuffed Dalmatian Beca got him in an attempt to placate his pleas for a dog of his own.

/

The nights are hard, though. After Beca puts Oliver to bed, the house becomes quiet but for the ticking of the clock hanging in the kitchen. Her mind doesn't wander to Chloe, it runs directly to her. And it ruminates on her until Beca eventually succumbs to sleep.

/

Jesse talks to her over Skype one night that week. He's in New York working on some new indie film that he expects will be a home run at Sundance. He rambles on about the poignancy of the cinematography on this project, the chances that they'll get picked up for distribution at the festival, and a riveting scene-by-scene replay of the script.

"And then the lead gets abducted by the CIA, where they implant her with a chip that lets her talk to animals, but she goes rogue and recruits squirrels to stage a coup to overthrow the government. And then everyone dies!"

"Oh, wow! Sounds awesome, Jess," she replies with a smile and a double thumbs up to emphasize that she was  _definitely_  listening, and  _not at all_  thinking of red hair and blue eyes.

"Seriously, Beca. Where are you tonight?" he asks with concern. She winces at the tone, feeling sheepish. She wants to be happy for him. She  _is_  happy for him. Really.

It's just that the heartbreak is still fresh, and still overwhelming, no matter how much she wishes it away.

"I'm in my house, on my couch," she deadpans, trying to deflect. Jesse only raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

"Sorry, I'm just tired," she whispers.

"You're a mother, Becs. You're always tired," he reasons, still unconvinced. He's not wrong.

She doesn't bother making any more excuses, she just spills the beans. When she finishes her story with the Band Aid incident, she sighs, running her hands through her hair.

"I dunno, Jess. It just...sucks. Like, that was the first night that I spent with her, the first night that we talked about personal things, the first time we even truly spent together one-on-one, in fact. And yet, I feel like I've lost something that I've had my whole life. And that doesn't make any sense! So on top of everything, I also feel...kind of, ashamed that it's affecting me so much. Embarrassed, I guess..." she trails off, her cheeks tinged pink from the embarrassment about talking about her embarrassment.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Becs. And it doesn't matter if it makes sense. Honestly, nothing about human emotion makes sense. The fact that you've only spent a certain amount of time with her has no bearing on how much or how little she makes you  _feel_. You can't help it anymore than you can help how short you are," he says mischievously, and Beca only huffs in response.

"Really though, you feel how you feel, and that's it. There's no explaining it, no rationalizing it, and no need to justify it," he finishes with a solid nod of his head.

The straightforwardness of his words actually reaches her, and she knows Jesse said it that way on purpose, because he knows her. He's her best friend, and one of the only ones that had stuck around even when she was pregnant.

She thinks she should send him a fruit basket or something.

/

She goes to sleep that night and repeats Jesse's words in her head like a mantra. She's just going to have to accept that she's feeling what she's feeling, and there's nothing to do but let time work its magic, which it will. Hopefully.

* * *

Weeks pass, and before she knows it, months have passed. Oliver's hair is a little longer, and he's grown a little taller, and Beca? Beca still thinks of Chloe often.

It's in the little things. Sometimes she'll read an article that she thinks the redhead would really be interested in. Other times she'll look up at the sky and can't help but think that it's not  _quite_  her favorite shade of blue. Most times, it's Oliver doing one goofy thing or another, and she finds herself wanting to tell Chloe about it.

She doesn't though. She's gotten the message that the redhead wants nothing to do with her, so she restrains herself.

/

More time passes, and with each month, her grief gradually transforms into something else. Something else that feels almost akin to anger.

The passing time  _has_ actually given her the chance to put the whole situation into perspective.

She's angry with Chloe, and even though she hasn't seen or heard from the redhead in a while, she thinks it's okay. She thinks on her Skype conversation with Jesse, and accepts the anger.

She thinks on it, and thinks on it until her head hurts. She writes angry lyrics to angry songs that will never see the light of day.

She's angry with Chloe for her overreaction. She's angry with Chloe for thinking that Beca was someone who would even  _think_  about two-timing her, or anyone, for that matter. She's angry with Chloe for refusing to hear her out. She's angry with Chloe for not even reading Beca's texts or listening to her voicemails.

And moreover, she's angry with herself. She's angry with herself for letting such a little misunderstanding escalate to the point that it did. She's angry with herself for not just spitting out the words that could have prevented all of this. She resents herself for not refusing to let Chloe kick her out before she knew the whole story.

In the end, she concludes that she and Chloe are both at fault in mess. That makes the situation worse as much as it makes her feel better.

* * *

A few weeks before Oliver is set to start kindergarten, Beca's dad asks her if he can take Olly on a weekend trip to Boston to see the Dodgers play the Red Sox for some grandpa-grandson bonding.

Beca thinks it's a great idea, and immediately gives him the go-ahead to make the arrangements.

Olly, of course, zooms laps around the coffee table and up and down the halls in his glee when Beca tells him he's going to go on an adventure with Pappy Mitchell to watch baseball.

/

And that's how she found herself where she is now, driving home from a blind date with "Heather."

Jesse'd met her on the set of some project he was working on, and insisted that she take advantage of her freedom to "try and get out there" again. After some initial resistance, she'd eventually given in. She figured it couldn't really hurt.

And it didn't hurt. Heather had been nice enough. She was beautiful, with her blonde hair and long, slender legs. There's no denying that. And she was smart, but she didn't take herself too seriously. She'd proven to be witty, too. Beca had actually found herself laughing at Heather's jokes. What's more is that she wasn't the least bit put off by the fact that Beca had a kid, something she'd made sure Jesse had told the blonde before he set them up.

On paper, she and Heather should make an ideal match.

But when Heather kissed her on the cheek after Beca opened the passenger door of her car as they left the restaurant, her cheek didn't burn.

When the blonde dipped her head for a kiss when Beca walked her to her door, she didn't feel any spark or tingle spread through her. Only the base comfort of another person's lips on hers.

/

So when arrives back at her house, she throws herself on her bed and composes what she hopes is a well-worded text message explaining that she'd had a lovely time, but that she wasn't in the right headspace to dedicate herself to a relationship.

It's only half a lie, really. Between Oliver and her job, she really  _doesn't_  have the time to give to a romantic relationship.

Beca lays in bed that night, thinking about her future. Eventually, Oliver will grow up, and she  _will_  have the time to find someone.

She knows that she can live without Chloe in her life. She's not so dramatic as to say that she'll never be able to love again. Because, really, that's what it had been. She loved Chloe. She didn't have enough time with her to know all the little things about Chloe that she'd have liked to, but she loved her.

She knows that eventually she'll be able to move on, and remember the redhead fondly.

She'll find someone compatible, someone "nice enough."

She's just not sure that she'll ever connect with someone in such an innate, palpable way as she did with Chloe Beale.

She can't help but think that whatever future she has that includes anyone other than Chloe will feel like she's settling.

Beca realizes it's a pretty dismal thought, but it's just where she's at right now. She figures that when she does finally meet that person, she'll be in a better place and will welcome whomever it may be into her heart without reservation.

She just wishes it could have been Chloe.

/

The next day, Beca spends her first few waking hours working on a couple different tracks in the makeshift studio she'd set up in the basement when she'd first been financially able to swing it.

After making some decent headway, she gets up and stretches her limbs before taking to cleaning up around the house to get it ready for her dad's and Oliver's return.

It won't make a difference to her dad, and certainly not to Oliver, but there's something about being a grown-ass adult and even more so about motherhood that just makes her feel like the place needs to be "presentable." She tries to imagine what teenage Beca would think of her, and she simultaneously cringes and chuckles.

When the doorbell rings that evening, the house is nearly spotless.

And then Oliver barrels through the door, and Beca's heart warms when he jumps up into her arms without any doubt that she would catch him.

She spins him around a few times, and he squeals as his little legs flail out behind him as they turn.

When she sets him down, her father is right there to hug her and thank her for letting him take the little man for the weekend.

She makes him a cup of coffee for the ride home, knowing how much of a handful Oliver can be sometimes.

Ethan takes it gratefully, and the three of them settle in the living room. Beca and her father are on the couch, and Olly is on the floor, rolling and scooching haphazardly from place to place.

He finally settles, and she asks him how his weekend with Pappy Mitchell was.

She's a bit surprised, because Oliver loves baseball, so she'd expected him to tell her about the game they saw, or the snacks they'd eaten, or the foam finger or whatever other souvenir he'd suckered her dad into buying him.

Instead, he talks of nothing but the plane rides to and from Boston. She glances at her father with a raised brow, slightly confused, but he just smiles, and shrugs.

Far be it from them to guess at the thought processes of a five-year old.

"Mommy, it was so fun! The plane was so big! When we was on the plane to Boston I got to sit by the window, and I saw everything from the sky. We were so high up, mommy. Higher than the top of our house, I bet!" he says, getting up from his feet and jumping with one hand in the air, to give an example of how high they were, Beca assumes.

"Wow, Olly! That sounds awesome!" she answers, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

"And, and, and...look!" he shrieks, pointing to his chest. It's then that Beca notices a pair of plastic wings pinned to his t-shirt.

He rushes over in front of her and puffs out his chest so that she can get a better look.

"He got to take a little tour of the cockpit before our flight back home," Ethan adds in clarification.

"I always thinked pirates drove ships, but, but, the guy who drove the plane said he was a pirate. So I guess they do both..." Olly says, tapping his chin with his index finger as though he's deep in thought.

Beca can't hold in her bark of laughter, and she squeezes him tightly before dragging him up onto her lap.

"It's 'pilot,' kiddo.  _They're_  the guys who fly planes," she explains, looking at her dad, who is much more successful at holding in his laughter.

"Oh," he answers, sheepishly. "I want to be a pi-lot when I grow up, mommy," he says, overemphasizing the syllables so he gets the word right this time.

"You can be whatever you want, little man."

/

The whole "pilot" thing turns into a new phase of Olly's, but Beca isn't sure this one is going to pass anytime soon.

In a few short weeks, the racecar sheets on his bed have been switched out for airplanes, and the plastic wings have barely been absent from his chest.

He and Beca spent one afternoon fashioning and painting a rudimentary airplane from a few cardboard boxes. She'd hardly found Oliver anywhere but sitting in that little plane, until she'd cut leg holes into the bottom.  _Then_  he spent most of his time "flying" his stuffed animals from place to place across the house and backyard.

She'd even heard him giving his own interpretation of the captain's greetings and farewells a few times.

/

When Halloween rolls around, most kids his age are dressed as their favorite Marvel characters and the like. But Oliver is Beca Mitchell's son, and therefore, he's predisposed to going against the grain, convention be damned.

So he trick or treats in a full-on pilot uniform.

Unsurprisingly, it had taken quite a bit of research to locate a child-sized pilot outfit, but she'd eventually found one that worked. And of course, because Beca doesn't do anything half assed, so she'd also found a piece of carry-on luggage small enough for him to use to collect candy, instead of a traditional plastic pumpkin or bag.

When he asks her if she'll be his flight attendant, it takes everything in her to refrain from a scowl. But he's looking at her through those thick glasses, with those blue eyes. She tells him that she'd "love to" through gritted teeth.

The pair of them receive a few confused looks throughout the day, but Beca figures that's to be expected. When the adults opening the door ask what he's dressed as this year ("I'm a pilot, duh!"), Beca says nothing, but only raises her eyebrows at them, daring them to give anything but a positive response.

/

Beca can't get out of her flight attendant costume fast enough that night. It had brought up far too many memories that she has been convincing herself to move past. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she also thinks that she certainly can't pull of the flight attendant look as well as a certain redhead.

Oliver's a different story, however.

"No, you can't wear it to bed."

"No, you can't wear it to school."

"No, kiddo, you cannot wear it everyday forever."

* * *

It's two weeks until Oliver's birthday, which is on December 13th. She'd been planning on throwing a small party for Oliver at their house with a few of Olly's friends from kindergarten, her dad and his new girlfriend, Sheila, and Jesse.

But her father puts the kibosh on that plan as soon as he walks in her house.

He flashes a sizeable packet of papers at her with a grin, after giving her a pat on the head. He lopes into the kitchen, leaving a confused Beca in the entryway. She follows him, and sees him putting a K-Cup into the Keurig.

"What's all that?" she asks, still confused.

"Surprise," he answers, nodding at the small stack of papers laying on the island.

She picks them up, and leafs through them, her eyes widening further and further after each page.

"What...dad?"

"It's a birthday present for Olly. And a mini-vacation for you. You've been working yourself too hard, Becs," he says plainly.

She takes another look at the papers in her hand. There are three round trip tickets to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, a hotel reservation, three tickets to a baseball game between the Dodgers and the Pirates, and tickets to a few other kid-friendly museums and activities.

"Don't worry," Ethan says, "I've already cleared it with your secretary," he finishes with a devious smirk.

"Well, you've thought of everything, I suppose," Beca says, astounded that her father cooked up a whole family weekend without her knowing a thing about it. "Looks like we're going to Pennsylvania."

* * *

Two weeks and three days later, they're packing up their hotel room in Pittsburgh, and getting ready to return home to Los Angeles.

Beca is glad that she'd thought far enough ahead to prepare for the mountains of souvenirs they'd be picking up over the weekend as she stuffs t-shirts and stuffed animals, and every other manner of thing into her suitcase.

She feels a little sheepish when Oliver is ready to go before she is, pulling her by her hand out of the lobby and into their rental car.

She feels a bit better when she realizes he's only so enthusiastic because they're headed to the airport, where they'll get on a  _plane_  to take them back to LA.

/

Beca and Ethan are similar in that they despise the actual act of traveling. But Oliver takes everything in with wide, excited eyes.

When Beca gets randomly chosen for an extra security pat down, Olly rushes to her after they release her and tugs at the hem of her shirt.

"They picked-ed  _you_ , mommy!" he squeals.

She only gives him a small smile and a nod before re-tying her shoes, putting on her belt, shoving her laptop back in her carry-on, and putting everything back in its rightful place.

God, she needs coffee. And if her son and father weren't here, she'd definitely stop for a scotch or two as well.

/

When they board, Oliver takes it upon himself to stop for a chat with the flight attendant at the front of the plane, earning a number of disgruntled looks from the passengers behind them. But he proudly points to the pilot's cap on his head that Beca had allowed him to bring for the flights, which earns him another pair of plastic wings.

They find their row, and Ethan takes the window seat and Beca takes the aisle, leaving Oliver to sit comfortably between them.

Beca had loaded her old iPod with a bunch of different games for Olly, for him to entertain himself with on the flights, and he plays happily on it while they wait for the plane to start moving. Her dad is already immersed in the Sports section of the USA Today he's picked up in the terminal.

She double checks that Oliver's seatbelt is fastened when she feels the plane starts its taxi out of the gate.

When she looks up, she's pretty sure her heart stops.

_No FUCKING way._

Standing in the aisle is Chloe Beale, giving the safety demonstration.

Their eyes meet, and she can see the shock on Chloe's face as clearly as she can feel if in her own chest.

But the shock on the redhead's face disappears as quickly as it had appeared, only to be replaced with pursed lips.

She knows Chloe can feel Beca's eyes on her, because Beca sees redness creep up the redhead's chest and underneath the scarf on her neck, but she doesn't give Beca a second glance for the rest of the demonstration.

When it's over, Beca takes a deep breath and holds it in until Chloe passes their aisle to head to the back of the plane.

She really could have used that scotch.

/

When they take off, Oliver leans over into his grandpa's lap as far as he can so he can see the houses and cars become smaller and smaller, babbling on about the sights to her dad.

Beca, as usual, has her eyes screwed shut and her fists in tight balls.

When they finally level out, Oliver grabs her fist, and entwines one of his tiny, clammy hands into her own.

"Don't be scared, mommy," he says with a giggle.

"M'not scared," she huffs, though she gives his hand a small squeeze to let him know she's not actually mad.

At him.

/

Truth be told, the resentment Beca has harbored for Chloe Beale resurfaced the instant she laid eyes on the redhead. She can feel that her brow has furrowed and her heart thumps angrily in her chest.

Except that along with resentment, all of the other wonderful, confusing, overwhelming emotions have resurfaced too. She prays to whoever's upstairs that the airlines have cut their budgets even further so that there isn't any mid-flight beverage service anymore.

/

It would seem that there are a few other prayers to answer first, because soon enough, she hears that melodic  _fucking_  voice asking the other passengers if they'd like anything to drink.

She hopes that Chloe will be responsible for serving the other side of the plane, but Beca's life just doesn't work that way.

The cart reaches their aisle, but Beca doesn't look up, but she can feel Oliver squirming in his seat at the thought of soda.

"Can I get you anything,  _ma'am_."

The voice that has haunted her, waking and sleeping, sounds downright antagonistic.

Beca wants to play along, but settles for a, "No,  _thank you,_ " in a tone equally as unfriendly, not even looking at Chloe.

She's indescribably thankful that her father is sound asleep and isn't witnessing his daughter act so immaturely.

But unfortunately, her son is wide awake and completely oblivious to the tension between his mom and the "stranger."

She keeps her eyes focused on the seat in front of her when Chloe asks Oliver if he'd like anything to drink.

"Yes, can I have a Sprite, please?" he answers. Beca doesn't need to look at him to know that he's beaming at the redhead, or that the redhead is beaming at him when he makes the request.

"Well, with manners like that, you certainly can!" Chloe says, cracking a Sprite. "So, is that your grandpa you're traveling with today?"

Oliver giggles at the question. "No, that's Pappy Mitchell," he replies, as if this should be obvious. "And this is my mommy," he says, poking Beca's arm.

Once again, Beca's heart skips a beat, and she can't help that her eyes dart to Chloe's face.

She's kind of glad they did though, because she gets to witness an assortment of emotions pass over the redhead's face in rapid succession. Chloe's face pales, and the Sprite she's pouring over ice actually flows over the rim of the plastic cup.

"Your..." Chloe trails off, her gaze slowly making it's way to Beca's face. It lingers on her only for a moment before landing on Olly again.

"Is...is your name Oliver?" Chloe asks, swallowing harshly.

Again, Olly is unfazed by the tension. When Beca looks at him, his eyes are wide and he seems supremely impressed that this flight attendant just so happened to guess his name.

"Yeah, yeah it is! How'd you know?" he replies excitedly.

Beca turns her gaze back to Chloe, who's still looking pale.

"Just a guess," Chloe answers with a weak smile. Her eyes shoot to Beca's, and Beca only responds with the arch of her brow and an unimpressed face.

"Wow, you're a good guesser," Olly says. "Can you guess my birthday?"

Chloe shakes her head, and Olly beckons her towards him with his index finger.

The redhead leans toward him as far as she can, and Beca can tell that she's trying to figure out how close she can get without getting too far into Beca's personal space.

Beca simultaneously wishes she'd get closer and get farther away. That damned perfume is doing things to her.

But then Olly cups his hands around his mouth, and looks around conspiratorially, before whispering, "It's today!" in the redhead's ear.

Chloe's eyes widen, and she straightens herself, taking her place back at the beverage cart.

"Is that so? How old are you today?" she asks, seemingly having regained her composure.

Oliver nods enthusiastically, holding up six fingers. But then Chloe is being urged forward by the other flight attendant manning the cart.

"Well, happy birthday, Oliver Mitchell!" Chloe chirps.

/

Of all the things Beca expected from this trip to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania (Really, what kind of vacation spot is Pittsburgh, anyway?), it was not in any way shape or form, on any planet, seeing Chloe Beale again.

But now Chloe knows truth.

And Beca feels smugly satisfied, in a twisted, vindictive way that puts a sour taste in her mouth.

Sure, Beca is aloof most times, and she can snarky. But she doesn't  _like_  being angry with people.

It hasn't been easy, being angry with Chloe.

It hasn't been easy loving her and trying to move on, either.

Seeing Chloe again has her in an unparalleled, unprecedented tizzy.

/

Not thirty minutes later, Beca hears a familiar voice echoing over the speaker.

"Attention everyone, we have a birthday on the plane today. Our esteemed passenger, Oliver, is turning six today, and we'd like you all to join us in wishing him a wonderful day!"

Beca nudges her son who's engrossed in a game of Fruit Ninja, and removes one of his earbuds.

"Listen," she says, smiling down at him.

They both smile widely as the whole plane sings a relatively off-key rendition of Happy Birthday and claps loudly when they finish.

Oliver bounces in his seat, and his tongue pokes adorably through his teeth the entire time.

/

When the captain announces their impending descent into Los Angeles, her dad is still dead to the world, and Oliver has fallen asleep with his head on resting on Beca's shoulder.

Before long, Beca can just  _feel_  Chloe making her way down the aisle to collect the last of the passengers' trash.

Chloe stops when she reaches their aisle, and Beca looks up at her to see the redhead's face full of remorse.

"Beca," Chloe starts, and Beca is pleased to see that Chloe doesn't think it's appropriate to use her nickname, "I don't know what to say. There's  _too much_  to say. But, I...I'd like it if, if you called me. Or texted me, or something. I...may have deleted your number from my phone," she say with a shameful shake of her head.

"Just...know that I'm sorry," she finishes, and Beca can see the pain in her expression.

As much as she's feeling right now, Beca can see that the redhead is feeling just as much. And she can see that Chloe's apology is genuine.

Beca can't figure out what so say, so she settles on a resolute nod and a, "We'll see."

"He looks so much like you," Chloe says, and this time, the smile on the redhead's face is authentic.

And then Chloe moves on towards the front of the plane.

* * *

From the back of the aircraft, Chloe fights back tears as she watches Beca and her family deplane.

She's spent almost a year telling herself that Beca Mitchell was a superb asshole for making her fall in love when she'd had a...husband...a boyfriend...an  _anything_  but a son, named Oliver.

And now? Now  _she_  feels like a superb asshole.

She only hopes that Beca will contact her. But she's not holding her breath.

Chloe would understand if Beca never wanted to talk to her ever again.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you x 1237486234 to everyone who's read, subscribed, and commented on this story. It means so much to me!**

**As always, let me know what your thoughts and opinions are; I love hearing them!**

**I also apologize because there was only a bit of Chloe in this chapter. But my fingers started flying, and I got a bit carried away. But let it be known that the next chapter will be mostly from Chloe's POV.**

**COME FIND ME ON TUMBLR AT commanderbeclexa.tumblr.com, ya'll!**


	4. Part Four

**Hello, everyone. Long time, no see!**

**I thank everyone who has prodded me along into updating. You have done your job! It's shorter than some, and I can't say that it's going to be worth the wait, but it's something.**

**In case you've forgotten, here's the tl;dr: Beca met Chloe on a plane. Chloe the Flight Attendant disassembles Beca's massive walls and they share a special night. Chloe overhears a phone convo and assumes Beca's got a significant other at home. Turns out it's Beca's son, Oliver. Beca tries to contact Chloe afterwards and Chloe has none of it until she encounters the Mitchell family on a flight, and realizes her mistake in refusing Beca's explanation.**

* * *

The two weeks after her chance encounter with Beca...and her family, passed by agonizingly slowly.

Chloe isn't too proud to admit that in those weeks, she'd made sure that her phone was never too far from her reach, and that its battery didn't drop below a 30% charge.

Every sound that it emitted brought with it a stirring of hopefulness that, maybe this time, it'd be Beca. Every time, the hopefulness was followed by a pang of disappointment when she saw that it was just another damned Bath and Body Works email, some filler text message from her dad informing her of her hometown's weather this week.

The disappointment wasn't directed at Beca, though. No, it was most definitely disappointment in herself. She'd done this to herself, and more importantly, she'd done this to Beca. Chloe had let her past dictate her emotions and had pushed away a chance at happiness at the very first sign of trouble.

It was only fair that Chloe should feel the way that Beca had probably felt after Chloe kicked her out and refused to talk to her.

"And this is my mommy."

God, looking back on that morning and the night that preceded it, she knows that there were signs she missed. The slight conflict that played on Beca's face when she artfully dodged Chloe's question about her family. The lighthearted playfulness that had taken Chloe by surprise as they roasted marshmallows in the fireplace. The flood of emotion that filled her dark blue eyes when Beca laid Chloe down on a nest of pillows and blankets, and loved her in the most tender way.

And if there was one sign that Chloe should certainly not have missed, it was the way that Beca had begged, quite literally, begged Chloe to calm down and let her explain. The tears that streamed down her face and the desperation in her voice when Chloe accused her of something Chloe had now come realize Beca wasn't even capable of doing.

Beca was no adulterer; she was a mother. To the cutest little being that Chloe had ever laid eyes on.

Late at night, when Chloe was feeling particularly masochistic, her mind wandered to far off places. Where she and Beca were happy. Where Chloe had given up her life as a flight attendant, and had become a teacher. Where Oliver had a red-haired brother or sister. But that wasn't going to be her reality.

/

"Chloe. Chloe. CHLOE." She jumps when she finally recognizes Bree's sharp hiss a few feet away.

Apparently she'd spaced out smack in the middle of mid-flight beverage service.

"Sorry, Bree," she mumbles, reacquainting herself with reality.

At Aubrey's concerned look, she merely responds with a half-shrug before plastering on a smile and serving the next passenger.

After the two had finished passing out drinks and snacks to the coach passengers, they rolled the beverage cart to the back of the plane and stored it, reclaiming their spots in the tandem seats at the rear of the plane.

A few tense moments pass before Aubrey breaks the silence, and Chloe is shocked by the uncertainty that she hears in place of the blonde's usual commanding tone.

"Chlo, are you okay?" Aubrey chances.

Chloe offers an admittedly weak smile and nods, "Yeah, Bree, I'm fine."

"Well, you don't seem very 'fine.' You haven't for the last few weeks. I mean, come on. You're actual-ray-of-sunshine-Chloe-Beale. It's pretty easy to tell when you aren't feeling very 'Chloe.'"

Chloe gives a hollow chuckle at that, not sure whether she should be thankful that she could be so easily read.

"Yeah, well, you aren't wrong," Chloe starts. "You remember Beca, ri-"

"I had a feeling it was about that little troll. I heard her bitch out that skeeze the one time, but I just knew she was bad news from the start! What did she do? I swear to god, Chloe, I'll-," Aubrey rants, seemingly all in one breath.

Chloe is wide-eyed when she cuts Aubrey off, waving her hand. "No, Bree. It was me. I fucked it up; Beca didn't do anything wrong."

Aubrey's quirked eyebrow and pursed lips make it clear to Chloe that the blonde doesn't believe her.

"No, really," Chloe continues. She regales the whole saga that's occurred between herself and Beca. Aubrey doesn't interrupt her, probably for fear that Chloe will retreat back into herself the way she has the past two weeks.

She's silent and contemplative as she takes in Chloe's story.

"I mean, the kid looks just like her, Bree. I don't know how I didn't see it immediately. But once he said it, every thing kind of fell into place. I tried to talk to her before they de-planed, and I asked her to call me, but I really doubt she will. And who could blame her? I know we had something special and I just straight up refused to hear her out," Chloe finishes with a sigh, bringing her hand up to wipe away the wetness that gathered at the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, Chloe," Aubrey whispered, resting a comforting hand on Chloe's knee. "It's going to be okay. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that you weren't in the wrong. But you aren't entirely to blame."

Chloe opens her mouth to argue, but a comforting squeeze of Aubrey's hand on her knee quiets her, and the blonde continues. "It's true that you should have let yourself hear what she had to say, but Beca could have been more direct with you that day. What this sounds like to me is a miscommunication that blew up into something way out of proportion. This can be fixed, Chloe," Aubrey finishes.

"You think so?" Chloe asked, registering an optimism in her voice that she hadn't felt in weeks.

"I know it. After what I heard just now, I don't think you should wait for her to contact you. She doesn't seem like the type of person who would reach out to you in a case like this, even if she wanted to."

Chloe considers this, and she's positive that Aubrey is right. After the lengths that Chloe had to go to to even pull a full sentence out of Beca, Chloe thinks she might have to wait for a decade to get Beca to even answer her phone. So where should she start?

" I wouldn't even know where to begin looking for her. All I have is her phone number, and she won't answer that. She lives in LA. That's the only other thing that I know," Chloe ponders.

"Chloe. This is 2016. You can definitely find her. She's a music producer, right?"

And with that, the gears in Chloe's head start to turn at double speed.

* * *

 

After a full 24 hours of flying, Chloe is finally settled into a hotel room in Denver, Colorado.

Her and Aubrey's conversation is still weighing on her mind as she brainstorms the best route of contacting Beca.

1\.  She's a producer. She could easily find Beca's label and approach them. But, she doesn't want to interfere in Beca's professional life. That would probably also make her look like some stalker-ish fan.

2\. Beca was on the plane with her son and her father. There's no guarantee that Beca had told her father who Chloe is, and what had happened between them. But even if she had, Chloe's not sure that a father would so much as entertain a conversation with someone who had treated Beca the way Chloe did.

3\. Beca has a son who's in school. She could try and contact the various kindergartens and/or elementary schools in LA, but that would probably put her on a variety of watchlists.

A few hours of contemplation later, Chloe decides there's only one course of action.

* * *

 

"Hello, Ethan Mitchell."

Chloe's heart pounds for a few moments when she registers that she's actually doing this. She's calling Beca Mitchell's actual father, for help with a problem that she had caused.

"...Hello?"

Shit. She hadn't had the foresight to figure out what she was going to say before she worked up the nerve to dial the number.

'Act before you think,' a classic Chloe Beale maneuver.

"Ethan Mitchell," the voice repeats, a little more loudly, and Chloe is impressed that he doesn't sound annoyed like people usually do when they answer an unidentified number.

This gives her a fragment of hope, so she takes a deep breath and gives it a go.

"Hi, Mr. Mitchell, my name is Chloe Beale."

There are a few moments of tense silence while Chloe waits for him to say something...anything.

She's about ready to hang up and try something else when she hears Ethan take a deep breath.

"I've heard a lot about you, Chloe."

It sounds like this phone call might be a giant mistake, and Chloe feels the same readiness to end the call as she did she first dialed, but then Ethan speaks up again.

"I can't say that all of it's is good, of course, but I've heard a lot."

Chloe take inhales as though those two seconds will fill her with inspiration, but nothing comes.

"I...yes, your probably right. But I'd really appreciate a few moments to talk to you, sir," Chloe answers, standing from the hotel bed that she'd been laying on.

"Chloe, see...Beca's been through a lot in her life. And I don't intend to add any more pain onto what she's already experienced. So you have two minutes to explain to me why I should hear you out. Starting when I answered the phone."

Chloe takes just a moment to gather herself, pacing back and forth in the narrow hotel room, trying to prepare some kind of statement that would justify the way she's treated Beca, and indirectly, Oliver, before she begins, but she can't find any words.But she thinks that the best place to start is just...the beginning.

And so she starts.

"Mr. Mitchell, I met your daughter on a flight some time ago, and there hasn't been a day gone by that I haven't thought about her. I talked to her, and I certainly haven't heard her entire story, but I know that she doesn't open up easily. We got to know bits of each other over some months and I'd like to think that I can read her fairly well, but I definitely can't presume to know all of her. I wouldn't be surprised if she told you, but she tried to share Oliver, the most important part of herself, with me, and I accused her of the worst. I wouldn't hear it. And I will regret that every day of my life."

"Your minute and-, " Ethan tries to interject, but Chloe is on a roll and she won't let herself go out like that if she can help it.

"NO, SIR! I'm sorry, but my feelings for your daughter can't really be constricted to less than two minutes," Chloe continued, feeling galvanized by the silence of the man on the other side.

"I spent months trying to reach Beca. It's not hard to figure out that she has spent a lot of time anesthetizing herself to the opinions of everyone else, but within my first few conversations with her, I could see that she does it only to protect herself. I could see that the two of us have a kind of chemistry that a lot people spend their whole _lives_ looking for. I _know_ that I had the primary role in ruining the relationship that we shared, but I also know that it was a gut reaction on my part to think the worst of her. Given the opportunity, I would try my damnedest to repair it. For my own well-being, for Beca's...and for Oliver's."

Chloe feels a slight bit of guilt in resorting to use Beca's son as part of her argument, but this is the best shot she has at reaching Beca without being blacklisted as some stalker, so she hopes that it reaches Ethan.

She waits for almost half a minute, Ethan's even breathing letting her know that she hasn't at least been hung up on.

"Well, Chloe Beale. You've convinced me. I'll try to manage something, but ultimately, it's up to Beca," he says.

If she's honest with herself, she'd expected a little more of a fight from Ethan Mitchell. But at the same time, Chloe can imagine that a father would want someone who is willing to lay themselves bare before his daughter; someone to ask Beca to love them for all that that person is, and isn't. Not in a lewd way, of course, but a more substantial way; wherein the two lay down all pretense and expose their vulnerabilities to each other and can find solace, understanding, and appreciation in each others' flaws.

And that is exactly what Chloe is willing to do.

So she and Ethan Mitchell converse for the next 45 minutes, trying to figure out the best way for Chloe to present herself to Beca and Oliver.

She only hopes that it will be enough.

* * *

 

**I could try and promise you that the next chapter will be up soon, but who's to say. I've got two other fics that haven't even been updated since I've started this guy, so that should give you an idea at how great I am at updating stories. Rest assured, every single one will be completed at some point. I can't guarantee when, per se, but I know the sorrow of a good fanfiction that's been abandoned. My fics will never be abandoned, even if there's only one person still reading.**

**Thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, commented, favorited, kudos-ed, what have you. It may not seem like it, but they really do keep me goin'.**

**As always, find me on tumblr at commanderbeclexa . I patiently await your opinions and suggestions.**


	5. Chapter 5

**TL:DR:** **Beca met Chloe on a plane. Chloe the Flight Attendant disassembles Beca's massive walls and they share a special night. Chloe overhears a phone convo and assumes Beca's got a significant other at home. Turns out it's Beca's son, Oliver. Beca tries to contact Chloe afterwards and Chloe has none of it until she encounters the Mitchell family on a flight, and realizes her mistake in refusing Beca's explanation. Beca doesn't quite know what to about it...**

**So, uh...it's been a while. The past year hasn't been particularly great for moi. But, I'm back! This chapter is quite short (I'm sorry), and possibly a bit lackluster, but it was honestly a bit of an** **exercise for getting back in the groove. The writing groove. *Beware the groooooooooove* I figured I might as well publish, since it's been so longgggg.**

* * *

 

Since encountering Chloe last month, Beca has attempted every item on her "Coping With Emotional Turmoil" checklist.

1\. ~~Marathon viewing of Disney movies~~. (Pleasant, especially with Olly on her lap, but not particularly helpful.)

2\.   ~~Eat as much Taco Bell as possible, without shame or hesitation~~. (Delicious, but it turns out her stomach isn't quite as receptive to heinous amounts of fast food as it used to be. Also, not at all helpful.)

3\.   ~~Clean everything in sight.~~ (Helpful, but not in the way she was hoping.)

4\.   ~~Re-arrange the furniture.~~ (Helpful to the feng shui, only. Olly had wailed for a solid hour the following morning because he was convinced they'd moved overnight.)

5\.   ~~Write lyrics.~~ (Typically the only truly helpful thing on the list; however, this time, whatever she wrote ended up disjointed and jumbled.)

The list is admittedly questionable, but she'd made it at the tender age of 15, and for the most part, it had worked for her. It would seem, however, that her present crisis was too much for her tried and true methods.

And that's what lead her to her present conundrum. For what feels like the 87th time, Beca holds down the delete button on her phone and watches the lines of text she'd been composing disappear. No matter what she writes, none of it feels right. A phone call is  _definitely_  out of the question, since she can't even collect her thoughts well enough to write them down, despite hours of reflection.

Beca knows what the issue is; she just doesn't know what to do about it. The issue is that on one hand, all she wants is to be done with all this heartache and longing, and jump headfirst into all that is Chloe. She wants to put all of this bullshit behind them and move on with their lives. But on the other hand, she's still fucking pissed. And more so, she's still hurt. It's a strange thing, to feel such opposite emotions at once. To want to kiss someone, and want to tell them to fuck off in the same breath.

So after the 87th deletion, Beca employs what she refers to as "Old Faithful," and ignores the issue entirely, in hopes that it will simply fade from her mind.

* * *

Old Faithful, of course, is a misnomer; it never works. Ignoring the issue takes just as much active effort as trying to fix it.

During the day when she's not busy with work or looking after Olly, she's warring with herself as to whether she should even  _try_ to contact Chloe or not.

At night, her old stress dreams have started popping up. Either her teeth are falling out, or a plane she's on crash lands in shark-infested waters.

She's getting nowhere.

* * *

As it turns out, Chloe is the one to make an affirmative move.

It's a typical Saturday for Beca and Oliver. Chocolate chip pancakes and sliced bananas have been eaten, showers have been taken, and proper clothes have finally been donned as noon rolls around.

They're three races deep into a Mario Kart Grand Prix when the muffled clank of the mailbox lid sounds through the living room. Beca doesn't wait before pausing the game. As expected, Olly jumps from his spot on the floor and flings his arms out wide before bursting into song, Beca shamelessly joining in with her son.

"Mail time, mail time, mail time, mail time, mail tiiiiiime!

Here's the mail, it never fails,

It makes me want to wag my tail,

When it comes I wanna wail, mail!"

Since his birthday, Olly has declared himself official collector of mail on days he's home when it arrives, because "it's my responsibility, Mama." Beca had rolled with it simply because it's hilarious to sing that stupid song with him every Saturday.

She watches as he returns to the living room, arms clutching a small pile of mail to his chest. He plops down next to her and hands over all of the mail except one parcel that he holds onto.

"You got a present, Mama," he says excitedly, holding the last piece out towards her with both hands.

Beca chuckles as she takes the package, because Olly has somehow concluded that any piece of mail larger than a standard size envelope is a present.

It's one of those nondescript bubble wrap packages from USPS. There's no return address, and it's honestly light enough that she'd be surprised if there's even anything in it, so she sets it aside with the rest of the junk mail.

"Maaa, aren't you gonna open it?" Oliver whines.

"I will, but only after I kick your butt, little Yoshi," she replies, tickling his sides. Her kid is growing before her eyes every damn day, so she will take full advantage of any opportunity to spend time with him.

* * *

Beca is loath to admit it her six year old kicked her ass at Mario Kart, and she wasn't even holding back.

This kid is going places.

* * *

It's past 9 o clock when Beca finally gets Olly tucked into bed. After miscellaneous dishes are loaded into the dishwasher and toys are put away, Beca plops herself on the couch, setting her glass of Sutter Home White Zinfandel on the coffee table (she may be a mother, but that doesn't mean her palate has progressed to more than that of a college freshman, okay?).

She flips on an episode of Fixer Upper, because let's be real, Chip and Joanna Gaines are relationship goals, and in another life, Beca would have loved to be a contractor.

Halfway through the episode, and coincidentally, halfway through her glass of wine, Beca grabs the small pile of mail Oliver had collected earlier.

_Junk, junk, bill, junk, bill, Billboard Magazine (ugh, thank god), bill, junk._  And last but not least, the USPS package.

She had no clue as to what could be inside, but what she finds leaves no question as to who sent it.

Beca feels a little dumb, because even though she's never seen it before, how could that loopy, swirling scrawl with a heart over the 'i' belong to anyone but Chloe?

When she reaches inside the package, she pulls out a USB with a post-it stuck to it that simply reads, "To Beca, From Chloe."

* * *

Two glasses of wine and a clean living room later, Beca finally washes her face and brushes her teeth before heading to bed. Chloe's USB has burning a hole in her pocket the entire time.

She flops onto her bed, and after chewing her lip for a solid minute, decides to plug it into her laptop.

What Beca hears sort of blows her mind. It's a mash-up.

It's definitely not one of her own. She remembers each and every mash-up that she'd let Chloe listen to during those flights between LA and Atlanta.

She hears "Make You Feel My Love", by Adele flow into "I Won't Give Up" by Jason Mraz, which melds into "Payphone" by Maroon 5.

Two minutes later, the mash-up ends and Beca can feel tears flowing down both cheeks.

She knows that even without the wine she'd consumed, she'd be crying nonetheless.

As far as she knows, Chloe hadn't known how to mix; she'd always seemed to be in awe when Beca would play her own mash-ups.

Chloe has to have done this on her own.

It's 1 AM in Los Angeles, and she's a little tipsy, but she doesn't give a shit.

She scrambles to find her phone from where it had been squished between the couch cushions and finds Chloe's contact.

She taps the number and waits while the phone rings and then rings again...

* * *

**If you wish, ya'll can find me on tumblr at commanderbeclexa**


End file.
